


It Takes A Village

by MHMoony



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kingsman fambam bonding, they're alive because fuck you vaughn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-18 09:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12385029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MHMoony/pseuds/MHMoony
Summary: Losing someone isn't easy, but having each other makes it a little easier.





	1. Roxy

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, you get two prompt requests and you merge them into one and then it all just gets out of hand.

Roxy Morton was born on 12 January 1992, and grew up in a privileged lifestyle, something she was always well aware of. Her parents, Alexander and Elizabeth Morton, both came from old, well-known aristocratic families, having been pushed together since their youth to eventually be married. Roxy had never been made privy of the fact that her mother and father were basically put through arranged marriages, but she also knew that they loved each other all the same. It may not have been the passionate and all-consuming love that she saw in films, books, and television, but it was mutual respect and fondness, always treating each other as equals.

They sent her to the best schools, provided her with the best teachers whenever she wanted to try a new extracurricular activity in her child and teen years, and always made sure she was only given top-tier food and wardrobe. Alexander and Elizabeth Morton gave Roxy every earthly possession she could have ever dreamed of, but always left it to the nanny to tuck her into bed at night.

When Roxy was thirteen, Elizabeth’s younger brother, Peter Hadley, came to stay with them for an extended period of time. Roxy adored her Uncle Peter, who always spent time with her, whether it be reading the _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ book that was published last year and discussing the various options Harry and his friends could have taken that wouldn’t have lead to a certain and heartbreaking death, cheering her on at her kickboxing and archery practices and competitions, or even just walking and talking with her in the garden at any time of day. He provided her the warmth and affection she hadn’t realized was missing from her dear mother and father, and she in return gave Peter someone to make proud. Roxy especially liked it when his friend, James (she had a suspicion he was more than a friend, but never pushed to ask), would come visit and they’d take her into London for a day to walk around and visit shops and sights alike. She loved and looked up to her Uncle Peter more than she could have ever imagined.

Which was why she was devastated when he told her he had to go away for work for eight months.

Peter had been staying with the Mortons for three years when he gently broke it to Roxy. While his work as a tailor occasionally made him take business trips for a few days or even a few weeks at a time, it was never months. Never nearly an entire year. Why would a tailor need to take an eight month long leave? He promised her that he was going to try his best to come back as soon as he could, and that she’ll be the first person he sees when he’s done.

“Not Uncle James?” Roxy questioned with a knowing smile.

He flushed slightly, laughing and shaking his head. “I suppose it was daft of us to think you wouldn’t catch on.”

She hugged him tightly, told him to be safe, and to come home soon.

In the next eight months, Roxy doubled her kickboxing training, began learning coding, and joined her school’s archery team. She also read the last _Harry Potter_ book five times and made extensive notes to discuss with Uncle Peter for when he came back.

Roxy was sitting at her desk in her room preparing for her A-levels when she heard a knock at her door, and was surprised to see her Uncle James. He had a pained look on his face, even when he smiled at her, which only made dread creep up Roxy’s spine. Something was wrong.

“Where’s Uncle Peter?”

He took her to his flat in London where her Uncle Peter was sitting up in his bed. Roxy paled slightly at the state of him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but the bandages wrapped around his middle more than covered him up. Bruises were painted on his torso and some on his face, and his arm was being held in a sling.

He looked up as they entered the room and gave her a dazzling smile. “There’s my girl,” he said fondly.

Roxy slowly moved towards the bed, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Told you that you’d visit Uncle James first.”

The two men laughed, and Roxy crawled on the other side of the bed to sit next to her Uncle Peter, James following her lead so she was sandwiched between her two favourite people in the world.

After talking for who knows how long, Roxy finally said, “So are you finally going to tell me what you do for a living, then?”

She felt her two uncles stiffen beside her, but didn’t let it phase her. “You really thought I’d believe that a tailor would need to take an eight-month long business trip and then come back half-broken?”

Peter looked over at James, whose eyes were wide. Peter merely laughed and shook his head. “Oh, my brilliant, dear girl,” he said fondly. “We really do need to stop underestimating you.”

The next night at dinner, Roxy told her parents she was going to enlist in the army, nearly giving her mother a heart attack and causing her father to choke on his wine. It turned into a long, drawn out argument, ending with the compromise that they would allow Roxy to join as long as she finished her A-levels first.

Two years later, Roxy completed them with top marks. She enlisted just as she wanted, with her Uncle Peter and Uncle James supporting her every step of the way.

Roxy served Her Majesty’s Royal Army for five years before being called to be a Kingsman recruit.

It was both the happiest and most devastating moment in her life.

After the Lancelot trials and the utter mayhem that was V-Day, Roxy found herself enjoying her new life as a secret agent. Bearing the name Lancelot felt like a badge of honour, a way to carry on the legacy of her Uncle James. Or, as Uncle Peter put it, “Keeping it in the family.”

She moved into a small house in Chiswick that she was able to buy thanks to Kingsman’s ever generous paychecks and compensations, and fell into the routine of dinners with Uncle Peter and Eggsy (and Tilde, when she didn't have any pressing duties), visiting Merlin in his office, and taking on and completing missions as assigned. It was a strange life, but one that Roxy wouldn’t want to change for the world.

It was one month of spending time with Merlin at his desk when she first saw it. How his jumpers no longer seemed to fit correctly anymore, almost hanging loosely off his barely broad shoulders. There were circles under his eyes that seemed to have gotten darker and darker with each passing week. He always seemed tired, but not in the usual office-work kind of way. Not of work. Just…of life.

She asked Eggsy about it and he said that he’d noticed it, too. They both agreed to talk to him about it the next day.

When they knocked on Merlin’s office door and he didn’t answer, though, Roxy knew something wasn’t right. He always answered, no matter how busy he was. A slight panic began to make its way into Roxy’s head. She shoved Eggsy aside as he knocked again, opening the door and storming in, politeness be damned.

The sight before her made her stop in her tracks. She heard Eggsy reprimanding her for her decorum, but ignored him as she made her way to Merlin’s unconscious body lying on the floor, a smashed mug and spilled tea next to him.

Eggsy contacted Morgana in the medical wing and Roxy called Uncle Peter.

The two of them and Peter were standing outside the medical room Merlin and Morgana were currently in, waiting until they were allowed permission to go inside. It was Eggsy who broke the silence.

“I think I know what happened.”

Roxy and Peter looked at him, Peter slightly confused, but Roxy thought she knew where he was going.

“I think I do, too,” she said.

Eggsy only sighed and nodded, and Roxy turned her head towards her uncle.

“Uncle Peter,” she started, “what do you know about Merlin and...and Harry?”

Peter’s brows shot up, surprise evident. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he looked between the two young agents. “I think the better question, is how do _you_ two know about Merlin and Harry?”

\--

Roxy promised Eggsy she would help him clean out Harry’s old house so he could move in. Merlin had given him the keys and told him that Harry would want him to have it, and Eggsy wasn’t about to argue.

They decided to start in Harry’s bedroom, Eggsy going into the master bath while Roxy began with the wardrobe and dresser. She opened the top left drawer and was surprised to see it filled with small stacks of the same jumper in different hues of brown, black, and grey--jumpers that looked extremely familiar. She opened the drawer next to it and found three pairs each of two different types of glasses: standard Kingsman glasses and half-wire rimmed. As realization dawned on her, she snapped her head up to find something, anything else to prove her theory, but Eggsy found it first.

“Roxy,” she heard him say quietly, “look at this.”

Eggsy had moved from the bath back into the bedroom and was standing in front of the nightstand next to the bed. In his hands, he held a picture frame. Roxy moved towards him and felt her heart sink at what she saw.

The frame held two photos. On the left were two young men, most likely in their early or mid twenties, both with hair and before laugh lines and crow's feet made permanent etches on their faces. Grins were plastered on them, one of them looking into the camera while the other gazed lovingly at the man next to him. It had yellowed slightly with age, but the happiness in it was so prominent that Roxy couldn’t help but sadly smile looking at it.

The photo on the right was more recent, probably from at least the last five years. It was the same men, but much older, one with graying hair and the other with no hair at all. They were profile to the camera, faces close, and soft, small smiles gracing their lips as they looked fondly at one another, content with each other after decades of intimacy. There was so much obvious love between the two of them, and it broke Roxy’s heart.

She looked up at Eggsy whose face was still staring intently at the photos, deep concentration marked between his brows. “Eggsy,” she said softly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“He never told me,” he whispered. “Neither of them. I never knew. He was the one comforting me over losing him, and all this time, it should’ve been--”

“Eggsy, no,” Roxy gently admonished. “You had no idea. There was no way you could have known. No way _we_ could have known. I didn’t do anything, either.”

“But it was _so obvious_ , Roxy.” He looked up at her with almost desperate eyes. “When I went to visit Harry after he woke up from his coma, Merlin was asking me to leave. Probably wanted some alone time or something. He told him to be careful and I thought he was just saying it because Harry’d just woken up, but he hasn’t said it to anyone else the same way. And after I killed Valentine, the way he said Harry’d be proud of me…”

Roxy didn’t know what else to do but wrap her arms around his middle and hold him. She was never as close with Harry as Eggsy was. She hadn’t even exchanged more than probably fifteen lines of dialogue with the late Galahad before he died, but she knew Eggsy had adopted him as a father figure of sorts, taking advantage of the male role model he hadn’t had the chance to have growing up.

The next day, Eggsy left the frame on Merlin’s desk while he was out of his office.

Merlin never mentioned it.

\--

A sad smile fell on Peter’s lips. “Ah. I took one of those photos. Three years ago at Harry’s birthday. James told me that Merlin would kill me for taking a picture of him, so I gave it to Harry, instead, to see if I could lessen the wrath that’s a Merlin scorned. Glad to know it was preserved and not destroyed.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. He sighed as he turned his attention back to Roxy and Eggsy. “So we’re all the on same page, then, about Merlin’s…behaviour.” It wasn’t a question, Roxy noted, because they all knew it was true.

Morgana came out of the room and looked at the three of them and smiled gently. “It’s good that he has the three of you looking after him. Thank you,” she said directly to Roxy and Eggsy, “for finding him and calling us.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” Eggsy asked.

Morgana nodded solemnly. “It appears he hasn’t been taking care of himself. He’s malnourished and exhausted. It’s a wonder he’s been able to manage this long with the way he’s been treating himself.”

Roxy’s heart broke. She had noticed. She should’ve said something sooner instead of waiting. If she hadn’t, then maybe Merlin wouldn’t have passed out in his office for god knows how long.

“Can we see him, then?” Eggsy kept moving his eyes from Morgana to the door.

She nodded her head. “Just be gentle with him. He’s weak right now and doesn’t need you lot harassing him.” She said the last bit with a smile before leaving.

Eggsy lead the way in and Roxy almost gasped at the sight of him. Without his jumper covering him, Roxy could see exactly how thin Merlin had gotten, the hospital gown only extenuating his loss of weight. He was pale and, for the first time since she’s known him, looked exactly his age.

He turned his head towards them when they entered and tried to smile, but the corners of his lips barely made a twitch upwards. “Ah. Galahad, Percival, Lancelot,” he greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“ _You fucking prick_.”

Of all the people to say that, Roxy certainly didn’t expect it to be her Uncle Peter. Well, she thought, so much for no harassing him.

His hands were balled up into fists, his face a mask of anger, as he made his way to Merlin’s bedside. Merlin’s face stayed passive as her Uncle Peter continued his tirade.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” he hissed, trying and failing to contain the resentment in his voice. “When James died, you told me that I wasn’t allowed to waste away, that I still had Roxy, that I still had Harry, and that I still had you. And here you are, lying in that damned bed doing the exact things you forbade _me_ from doing. So I’m going to tell you precisely what you told me: if I’m still here, then so are you, you bastard. Or would you like me to whisper that in your fucking ear?”

Roxy’s wide eyes turned from her uncle to Merlin, and then finally to Eggsy who also had a look of shock on his face. No words came to her. What could she say? She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. She looked back at Merlin, whose steely resolve was slowly crumbling. A tear fell from his eye, and then it was as though the floodgates had opened.

“It hurts _so fucking much_ , Peter,” he sobbed into his hands.

As she watched Kingsman’s wizard break down into her uncle’s arms, Roxy reached for Eggsy’s hand and squeezed it hard, trying to fight the tears that were beginning to form in her eyes. She hadn't seen someone this broken since, well...he was holding him.

Roxy didn’t know how long it took until Merlin’s sobs subsided, but when they did, he sniffled, wiped the tears away from his face, and then closed his eyes. “Sorry about that,” he murmured.

“Don’t even fuckin’ start, bruv,” Eggsy said.

Merlin opened his eyes, still red and raw, and almost looked surprised to see Eggsy and herself there, almost like he had forgotten they had come inside the room, too. He opened his mouth to say something, but Eggsy cut him off.

“You’re hurtin’, and that’s alright. But…we need you, too, Merlin. I already lost Harry, and Rox and Percival lost James, and….and the three of us can’t lose you, too.”

Roxy nodded her head. “You’ve taken care of us, and now it’s our turn to take care of you.”

“Since you clearly can’t bloody well do it yourself,” she heard her uncle mutter.

Merlin said nothing, but Roxy swore she saw a real smile make its way on his face, no matter how small it was.

It was that moment, that exact moment, when Roxy realized that the people that make up Kingsman are more than just colleagues, more than just work friends. These people are her family. Herself, Uncle Peter, Eggsy, and Merlin. They needed each other.

So as long as Roxy was still there, so would the rest of them.


	2. Percival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Hadley was the youngest of the four of them. Hamish was the oldest.

Peter Hadley fell into Kingsman quite by accident. He wasn’t recruited after being spotted in the military like seemingly every other person in this intelligence agency; rather, he was stolen from MI6.

Stolen meaning he was literally kidnapped from his London flat in the middle of the night while he was asleep.

It was 2004 and he was the ripe young age of 26 when Peter overheard a phone conversation the chief was having, something about needing the aid from a place called Kingsman for a certain operation. This baffled Peter. He’d never heard of Kingsman before, and why would they need help from an outside party, anyway? They were MI6, for god’s sake. He researched Kingsman that night and was only made more confused at seeing the only Kingsman that came up on his search bar was the Kingsman Tailor Shop on Savile Row. Call it idiocy or incredible foresight, but he decided to take a look for himself without telling any of his superiors. So he made an appointment and came in on the designated time and day, ready to scope out what exactly made this tailor shop so worthy of aiding, what is supposed to be, a secret service.

The atmosphere and suits, he admitted, were quite nice, and right up the alley of the lifestyle he’d grown up in. He briefly wondered if he should recommend this store to his brother-in-law, until he remembered that Kingsman might not be a tailor shop at all.

The shop front manager was a kind and helpful older gentleman, taking him through the different types of fabrics and cuts he’d like to try. They selected trial styles for him to sample, and that was when Peter found himself in Dressing Room 3.

This was his moment. He carefully began inspecting the walls, one covered in picture frames, the other with a line of coat hangers. Looking at each frame carefully, Peter tried to determine whether there was anything out of the ordinary. When he couldn’t find any, he went over to the wall with the coat hangers. He was about to put his hand on the far left hook when he heard a knock at the door, the shop manager asking him if everything was going alright. Peter answered that yes, everything was going swimmingly, before removing his hand and deciding it would probably be best to actually wear what he was supposed to be trying on before he opened the door.

He left after making a follow-up appointment, but couldn’t shake the feeling that the old man helping him had looked at him differently since he stepped out of Dressing Room 3.

That night, Peter decided he would go back into the shop the next day to examine the shop a little more under the guise of wanting to change the fabric of his order.

He was asleep for two hours when he woke to two people clad in familiar bespoke suits hovering above him. Before he could let out a sound, something pricked the side of his neck, and he was out cold.

Peter awoke for a second time that night (or it could have been morning, he really didn’t know) in a dark room, with one light shining on him, tied to a chair.

How cinematic.

“Ah. Looks like Bond is finally awake.”

“Perfect. Now, we can begin.”

Peter shook his head to try and rid of the haziness clouding his head. Whatever was in that dart they hit him with was strong, and it was not making his predicament any easier. As he blinked to regain his vision, he saw two men in finely tailored suits move into view in front of him. The same two men who had broken into his flat, one in dark blue and the other in beige, both wearing glasses. They were looking down on him with a smug pompousness that made Peter want to punch them in their stupid faces.

“Why did MI6 send you?” the man in blue asked.

Peter pursed his lips and clenched his jaw. Did this fool really think he could ask him that and he’d just answer? Fat fucking chance.

“Allow me, Galahad,” the other man said. The blue-clad man (Galahad? What kind of name?) nodded and moved aside to allow beige to stand in front of him. Peter didn’t know what it was about them, but these two men seemed to strut about like peacocks even when only taking a few simple steps. They held their chins a touch higher than anyone else he ever knew, and had an air of importance surrounding them. Self-importance, he suspected. One looked older, but the one in beige was probably only five years older than Peter at most. He would even dare to say this beige suited man was quite handsome.

And he really would have if the man hadn’t just pointed a pistol at his face.

Peter tried not to react, but knew his eyes had widened the smallest bit. He thought he saw the man called Galahad roll his eyes, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I’m going to repeat what my colleague here just asked you: why did MI6 send you?”

And thus began the most stressful three days of Peter’s life. They never physically hurt him (too bad, at least), but continued questioning him over and over again. Peter, of course, kept his mouth firmly shut. He came to know them as Lancelot and Galahad, and was miffed that they knew his name when he didn’t know theirs (that didn’t stop Lancelot from calling him Bond and 007 over the course of their interrogation, though). On the third day when he was finally released, Peter found out that the only reason it had taken that long was because they weren’t able to contact the Chief of Secret Intelligence Service to find out what one of his agents was doing sneaking around Kingsman. The chief apologized to Galahad and Lancelot for the disturbance and inconvenience, and then gave Peter the reprimanding of his life.

Peter demanded to know what the hell Kingsman actually was, but was quickly dismissed, being told that it wasn’t his business to know and that he should just forget about the “mishap” altogether.

But how does one just forget about being kidnapped by tailors? Despite his curiosity, Peter did as he was told and never brought it up again. However, that didn’t stop him from taking the occasional walk down Saville Row and glancing at the shop’s gold letters. He never did get to have his suit made.

About two months after his kidnapping (that was kept deeply under wraps), Peter was walking up the stairs to his home only to find none other than Galahad leaning against the wall outside of his flat door.

“Peter,” he said nonchalantly, “fancy a chat?”

Over the course of the next two hours, Harry Hart introduced himself and told Peter that he’d been keeping tabs on him since their last encounter (Peter tried not to be too annoyed at learning this fact), and that he was impressed by his undeterred loyalty to MI6 and not telling them who he was despite the fact that they clearly knew. He also told Peter that he’d seen him walking past the shop more than enough times to know that he was still interested, but was once again pleased to note his ability to follow orders and not continue pursuing his own curiosities at the expense of SIS. He then asked Peter if he ever thought about moving on to higher positions in his field of work.

And that was how Peter Hadley became Harry Hart’s candidate for the Percival trials.

It wasn’t much of a contest, really, between Peter and the other recruits. He had the fortune of having trained and been part of MI6 for a little more than a year before he stumbled upon Kingsman, so he had a bit of a leg up against the others.

Three weeks into his knighting, Peter (now Percival) found himself on a simple reconnaissance mission in Nottingham with Lancelot, the one who pointed a gun at him. At least, it was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission until it went tits up because apparently, the drug cartel they were observing had more members than they originally thought, and were far too wary of anyone walking around their compound. Everything turned out safe and okay in the end, thank goodness, but Lancelot still ended up with a nosebleed. Not from any of the goons, just from smacking his face against a wall at a sharp turn while he was cracking jokes at their pursuers expense.

Later on at the shop after debriefing, Peter eyed the man in front of him, bruised nose and all.

“For supposedly being a senior agent, Lancelot, you’re quite reckless.”

Lancelot merely smirked in response. “Perhaps a young thing like you could teach me a few new tricks, then, Percival. And please, call me James.”

It took Peter and James another year before they finally put a label on themselves. Throughout the course of their relationship, Peter always seeked out the advice of Harry or Hamish whenever he was beginning to have concerns or doubts, and they would always help himself and James in whatever way they could. Peter knew that the two older knights had soft spots for them, seeing themselves in the two of them, and really, who else could truly relate to navigating a don’t-ask-don’t-tell-esque relationship within an independent intelligence agency?

The four of them quickly became good friends, a unit, always making sure to have dinner or drinks together on the mostly rare nights when all four of them were off.

If it weren’t for Harry and Hamish, Peter would not have been able to go on after James died. He put on a brave face in front of Roxy, but behind closed doors, Peter was a mess. He couldn’t find it in himself to shave, drink more than half a lukewarm cup of tea, or even sleep for more than an hour at a time. Two weeks of this had gone by when Merlin barged into his room at the estate, pulled back the curtains blocking any light from coming into the dim room, and went over to Peter who was sprawled about his sitting chair.

“This has got to stop, Peter,” Merlin said softly. “Look at yourself. You’re not eating, you’re barely sleeping, I can’t even send you out on the field like this. I know that this hurts--”

Peter sneered at Hamish and shoved him away. “Don’t you dare try and tell me what you know. Once Harry’s body is lying god knows where, dead and unretrievable, then you can come to be about how much you know this hurts.”

And just like that, Merlin’s gentleness vanished and was replaced with the hardened face he’d come to know (and fear) when he was just a recruit. “Alright, enough of this.” He hauled Peter up by the lapels of his jacket so that he was eye level. “Listen here, you upperclass prick, we still need you here. Not just Kingsman. Roxy still needs you. Harry and I still need you. So let us help you, you ungrateful arse, because as far as I’m concerned, if I’m still here, then so are you. It’s my job to keep you alive, and that doesn’t mean just over comms.”

Between Merlin, Harry, and his darling Roxy, Peter was able to get back on his feet. He was still hurting, and suspected he always would, but he also knew that as long as he had those three by his side, he’d be okay.

When Harry died, Peter felt guilty. He never for one second believed that Harry would suffer a similar fate of James, and the words he’d practically spat at Merlin echoed through his mind. Unfortunately, the effects of V-Day were still hitting the world at large even after Merlin, Roxy, and Eggsy Unwin saved the world. He was a little peeved that they hadn’t called him, but to be fair, he was away on a mission in Libya when the world went to shit. Peter hadn’t had many chances or opportunities to check in on Merlin, not while they were an Arthur and three knights short. Ever since Merlin’s incident, though, Peter put more time and effort into being there for his friend, just as Hamish did for him.

Peter was sitting in Hamish’s home in Chelsea, talking in the sitting room with him over a bottle of single-malt scotch. They were supposed to be having dinner with Roxy and Eggsy, but (most likely due to Eggsy, Peter figured) they were late.

“This almost reminds me of how the four of us used to be,” Hamish said.

Peter was surprised. It wasn’t often the older man talked about days of their past, nearly breaking down every time he even said Harry’s name. This was new. A good new, and he hoped this meant they were only that much closer to Hamish becoming better.

He chuckled. “What? The two of us slaving over a hot stove while we wait for our braggarts of significant others to swagger in ten minutes late?”

“How domestic of us, eh?” Hamish smiled.

“I believe it was you and Harry who told James and myself that moments of domesticity are essential in remaining human when we have occupations such as ours.”

A contemplative look fell on Hamish’s face, and Peter wondered if he’d said something wrong.

“Aye,” he said softly. “Moments like these.” He looked up at Peter fondly. “I never did thank you, did I?”

Peter tilted his head, perplexed. “Thank me for what?”

“For yelling at me and getting my head out of my arse,” Hamish said with a smile, taking a sip out of his tumbler.

Peter looked into his own glass, abashed. “I learned from the best, I suppose.”

Hamish regarded him for a moment. “You are one of the best things to happen to Kingsman, Peter, I hope you know that. Not only are you valuable as Percival, but you’re also someone who’s helped push old Kingsman beliefs more forward. You and James both did that. And you brought in Roxy, and even helped Eggsy when Harry…” he paused, in an attempt to collect himself, Peter guessed. “...when Harry left. Kingsman is better because of you, Peter. Kingsman needs you. And I never want you to think otherwise.”

A knock sounded at the door at that moment, and Hamish excused himself to go answer it. Peter considered what he’d just been told. Having known the man for ten years, Peter liked to think that he knew him well (not as well as Harry, no one would ever know him as well as Harry did). And from what he knew, Hamish was not a man who felt comfortable sharing his own feelings and emotions freely. He did not like to burden others with his problems, no matter how many times someone would tell him that he’s not a burden at all. They were alike in those regards, and that’s why it made so much sense that the two of them ended up with people like Harry and James. Ostentatious and showy, yes, but also people who knew how to coax Hamish and himself into allowing them into their hearts and minds.

Hamish was trying to let Peter in. Not by outright saying it, but Peter knew that the man wasn’t just talking about Kingsman.

He heard Eggsy and Roxy’s voices enter Hamish’s house, Roxy apologizing for being tardy and blaming Eggsy, and Eggsy defending himself by saying, “Tilde wanted to FaceTime and it’s not like you were in any rush to say bye to her, either.”

Peter stood and greeted his niece and her best friend with a smile and hugs. They made their way into the dining room, Eggsy and Roxy helping Hamish set the table, all the while pestering each other like siblings. Peter watched the scene before him, noting how the grin on Hamish’s face didn’t seem to want to leave as he was surrounded by those he cared for, and cared for him in return.

Moments of domesticity are essential, he thought with his own soft smile. Just like this.


	3. Eggsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's not always enough time to shed a tear in private.

It was too much.

Roxy was gone. JB was gone. Percival was gone. Arthur, Morgana, Gawain, everyone, _Kingsman_ was all gone, and the only ones left were himself and Merlin. How long was he supposed to keep everything he was feeling reined in before he could shed a tear in private? Was the cabin of an aeroplane private enough while Merlin was off in the cockpit?

God, and Merlin. The man had only just started truly becoming happy again after losing Harry, how could he even say they needed to wait before he could shed a fucking tear when all of their friends just died? Maybe he’d have to get him drunk again, Eggsy thought. Over drinks (a jack and coke for himself and a single-malt scotch for Merlin) was how he found the wizard regaling tales of his youth and his and Harry’s relationship to him.

He learned of how they met (Cambridge, 1978), how they both joined Kingsman, how Mrs. Hart practically adopted Merlin as a second son, how they finally ended up as more than just friends from their university days. Eggsy learned of a love and companionship that spanned nearly four decades, only to be ripped apart by a megalomaniac with a gun. And that nearly killed Merlin himself.

Eggsy will never forget walking into his office and seeing him almost lifeless on the carpet, nor how pale and gaunt he looked in the medical bed less than an hour later. It was terrifying, and all he could think was, _I can’t lose him, too_. Merlin’s road to recovery was filled with a lot of stubborn comments about not needing to be coddled, frustrated groans from those attempting to coddle him, and shared tears when Merlin couldn’t hold it together any longer. He was surprised the man hadn’t had a breakdown over Kingsman yet considering how he’d lost it over Harry more than enough times over the last few months, if Eggsy were being honest.

He still couldn’t fathom the fact that it was all just…gone. He’d finally found a home with Kingsman, a place where he for once didn’t feel as though he was less-than. He’d found a man who believed in him and pushed him to his true potential. He’d found a second family. And all of that was ripped away from him.

Eggsy closed his eyes as he reclined in his seat, willing his tears away.

_It was too much._

They finally touched down in Louisville, and Eggsy got up and stretched. Merlin came out of the cockpit, clipboard in hand. “Ready to go?”

Eggsy could see the pain in his eyes, though. He could see how this has been too much for him, too. But he could also see the desperation in his eyes begging him to _please, not now_. So he squared his shoulders, nodded, and followed Merlin off the plane.

Three hours later, Eggsy decided that it was now.

Ginger and Tequila had just left them in the room where they’d previously been tied up. Merlin was watching Harry through the one-way mirror, and Eggsy was watching Merlin. Neither had said anything since they were left alone in the room

He couldn’t even imagine what this poor man was going through. He had the love of his life taken away from him, was in the process of piecing himself back together only to have his life’s work decimated, and then reunited with his thought to be dead partner only to have him torn away from him moments later. Harry was alive, but he didn’t remember Merlin. It was the cruelest catch-22 of them all.

“Merlin,” Eggsy said softly. “Come on, bruv.”

Merlin grunted. “What?”

Eggsy sighed. Here it was again. Merlin was closing himself off, the same way he did when he lost Harry for the first time. Except this time, he didn’t have Roxy to help drag him away from his desk, or Percival giving him the tough love he needed when he was being too stubborn. Eggsy was by himself. Except, he wasn’t. He had Merlin. And even though he didn’t remember them, he still had Harry. And right now, he had to be there for Merlin.

“This is private enough, don’t you think?”

Merlin closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, his grip on his clipboard tightening. “No, Eggsy.”

Eggsy let out a frustrated sigh. “This is a big fuckin’ deal, mate, you can’t just lock this up inside like last time.”

“This isn’t like last time, Eggsy,” Merlin snapped, swinging his head towards him, anger and frustration evident in his eyes. “Last time, our entire organization wasn’t blown to shit. Last time, we didn’t have to save the world. Last time, I had the actual time to shed a tear. So, no, Eggsy, this isn’t fucking private enough.” He took a few deep breaths, and then turned his head back towards Harry through the glass. His voice was etched in pain. “Last time, Harry wasn’t standing right in front of me looking at me like a fucking stranger.”

Eggsy fought back the lump in his throat. “But Merlin, bruv--”

“ _No_ , Eggsy,” Merlin whispered and shut his eyes. “ _Please_. Not now.”

Eggsy once again wanted to say more, but stopped himself. He didn’t know when to push and when to back off. What do you say to a man whose thirty-something year long partner suddenly lost all memory of their life together? Eggsy had only known Harry for a few months and this was tearing him apart from the inside out, ripping the deepest parts of his heart and crushing. And if Eggsy was this devastated, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the myriad of emotions that could be storming through Merlin.

So he placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and left. There was a mission to do, after all. And as always, the mission came first.

After that moment, Eggsy didn’t have any other time to check up on Merlin, constantly being shipped from Glasto to Italy to Singapore to Cambodia. He wanted to, but they just didn’t have the time. And, as it would turn out, Eggsy would never get the time again.

Poppyland was a shit show. Merlin died. Yes, they saved the world once more, but Merlin still died. And it was all Eggsy’s fault. If he’d used the minesweeper like Merlin had told him, if hadn’t stepped on that mine, _if he had just fucking looked where he was going_ , then Merlin would still be there with them. Then Merlin wouldn’t have had to sacrifice himself because of Eggsy’s mistake. He closed his eyes.

_It. Was. Too. Much._

He and Harry were sitting at the bar having just released the antidote to the world. When Harry died and Merlin was practically killing himself, all Eggsy could think was, _I can’t lose him, too_. And then, for one shining moment, even if he didn’t remember, he had both Harry and Merlin back, only to lose Merlin again in the worst way possible. At his own hands. Why did he only get to have one without the other? Why couldn’t he for once keep a father figure in his life? Why couldn’t Harry and Merlin just be happy?

_**It. Was. Too. Much.** _

“Oh, my god,” he heard Harry mutter.

Eggsy lifted his head to see Harry staring straight ahead of him, a horrified look on his face. “What?”

“His favourite singer is John Denver. Of course I knew that. He almost throttled me for touching his signed vinyl.”

A crease formed between Eggsy’s brows. “What are you going on about?”

Harry turned to face him and Eggsy almost felt a physical blow at the absolutely destroyed and broken face of a man. “We were engaged,” he whispered. “I proposed the day it became legal. We were going to have an autumn wedding in November because he liked the colours of the leaves.”

And all at once, it hit Eggsy. Harry remembered, but he remembered too late. Merlin died without knowing that Harry loved him. He walked over to his mentor and wrapped his arms around him, allowing the older man to sob on his shoulder.

As Eggsy let his own cries finally escape him, he held onto Harry tighter. It was just the two of them now. Eggsy and Harry. Galahad and Galahad. Kingsman. Both hurting and both riddled with guilt. They were all each other had left, and he knew that they would have to lean on and take care of each other, because otherwise, Eggsy didn’t know if either of them could make it past this.

Roxy was gone. JB was gone. Percival was gone. Merlin was gone. The only ones left were himself and Harry.

 _I hope this is private enough for you, Merlin_ , he thought. _Because this is too much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter (and angstier) than I originally intended, but it just felt right. One more chapter to go!


End file.
